#hinge and bracket

[neil-gaiman]

dear mister gaiman,

every time i see crowley as nanny ashtoreth, he reminds me of a very amazing female impersonator who i grew up with and loved as a teenager and who just recently passed away as i had to unfortunately find out. his name was george logan and he played dr. evadne hinge of "hinge and bracket" with patrick fyffe back in the 80s and 90s.

i had completely forgotten about them until that particular scene with crowley. and upon googling how george was doing (since patrick died way too soon), i found out about george's death. i was (still am) very heartbroken, because they were AWESOME!!!!! especially their live shows / gala evenings. but it prompted me to re-watch their tv show again and i re-discovered my love for gilbert & sullivan operettas. (i could actually picture aziraphale listening to those every now and then).

in general i see a lot of crowley and aziraphale in evadne and hilda's personalities. one is dark, the other is blond. one is moody, the other is always cheerful and too pure for her own good. even the bit of naivity aziraphale has going on screams hilda to me. it's such a treat to find similar behavioral patterns like that and it makes me love good omens so much more now.

i just wanted to share this little thought with you without asking any other questions since i am sure you have a ton to answer.

i hope you are doing well. greetings from berlin.

That made me smile.

Here's a little moment of Hinge and Bracket for those people who have never experienced them:

[purplewillowchicken]

INTERVIEWER: You two are the next Morecombe and Wise. (British comedy double act. Much beloved)

MICHAEL SHEEN: Hinge and Bracket more like!

This is Hinge and Bracket. A 1970s, high brow, drag act. It's so them.

[kobriena]

RIP George Logan. 

The Dr Evadne Hinge to Patrick Fyffe’s Dame Hilda Bracket.

They were bloody brilliant.  And no-one gave a toss they were drag acts, they were talented and funny.

[rowanthestrange]

Day number whatever of new home ownership. Had to enlist the help of an oven cleaner because when we moved in we opened the oven door, saw the charcoal, and went lol nope not using that it’ll give us cancer and burn the house down at the same time. The guy managed to fit us in within 3 weeks which is actually good because he and all the other local ones are booked up months in advance. Apparently he usually uses two blades to get the crap off the oven and this job took NINE. He managed to fix the emergency gas cut-off for the hob which apparently wasn’t working. And it turned out the glass in the oven door had been fitted the wrong way round so could’ve exploded at any time but it’s ok he’s put it the right side out now. 🙃

[dropouttvpollbrackets]

It's time for a mini-bracket!

Yes, I know we are right in the thick of a bracket already, but I thought maybe now that half our contestants have been eliminated, we could take a moment to reflect on those that did not make the cut in round 1 and, moreover, why they didn't.

That's right - we are going to pit the losers of our Most Unhinged Cast Member Bracket against one another to determine who is, in fact, the most hinged! After all, what is comedy without a straight man? What is a DnD party without someone who read the rulebook and actually keeps everyone on track? What is a game show without the occasional contestant who cares a normal amount and is just here to have a good time? So this mini-bracket is a shout out to the hinged heroes of Dropout - they may be in the minority, but the chaos wouldn't be the same without them.

This mini-bracket will consist of just three rounds, lasting 1 day each. To keep this quick and get it finished before round 3 starts, we'll start out with four polls of four cast members each before switching to one-on-one polls for the semi-finals and final.

Now, without further ado, let round 1 of the mini-bracket of hingedness commence!

[bitchthefuck1]

You should absolutely still get furniture secondhand where appropriate but dear LORD double check the assembly if it's originally from ikea bc I swear some of y'all are tossing out the instructions and putting these together in the dark based on vibes

[girls4etho]

im going to kill myself and take this door with me

[gone2soon-rip]

GEORGE LOGAN (1943-Died May 19th 2023,at 78).British musical comedian,best known for his drag character of Dr Evadne Hinge,alongside Patrick Fyffe’s Dame Hilda Bracket,in their televisoon series Dear Ladies,and frewquent appearance son 70′s and 80′s tv and theatre,with their comic musical characters Hinge & Bracket.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hinge_and_Bracket

[nikeson01]

Durable LiquiLevel ST Adjustable Hinged Bracket - Kit A

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[partsfe006]

Glastender 06001373 Hinge/Bracket Set, Right | PartsFe

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[snitling]

The same Dotsy and Sadie who were the Agony Aunts in Terry Pratchett's acclaimed Discworld series?

As one who's seen the season 2 trailer of Good Omens one too many times, I'm getting the feeling that Gabriel is up to something that Heaven and Hell don't know about. I feel as though he became human on purpose to find out what Aziraphale's weakness is to get rid of him as well as Crowley. Correct me if I'm wrong

Gabriel came to Earth to go on holiday to Spain with Aziraphale and Crowley and their wives, Dottie and Sadie. He's working as an art critic and when he sees the picture hanging in Crowley's bed and breakfast bedroom he realizes it's an original painting by Jerry Picasso (Pablo's baby brother) and resolves to steal it on the same night that the neighborhood Dress as a Burglar and Win a Fridge competition is held. Hilarity ensues.

[passionoverfashion]

Kitchen Dining in Portland

Eat-in kitchen design with a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, marble countertops, white backsplash, subway tile backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and an island in a mid-sized traditional u-shaped room with medium tone wood flooring.

[cod-bin]

a quiet kind of love

simon riley x pregnant!reader

requested: yes

summary: A pregnant woman finds comfort in her quiet, kind neighbor. With gentle moments and quiet care, they grow into something like family.

wc: 1.3k

join my taglist

You hadn’t expected much when you moved into the run-down flat on the second floor of the old building. The wallpaper peeled in the corners, the radiator hissed like it was dying, and the ceiling above the kitchen had a water stain that looked vaguely like a sad face. But the rent was low, and you needed low.

Seven months pregnant. Alone. Starting over.

The first time you saw him, he didn’t say a word.

You were wrestling four overstuffed grocery bags up the stairs, your balance thrown off by your growing belly. You hadn’t even noticed him until one bag slipped and burst open—apples and cans tumbling across the landing with a loud clatter. You let out a groan, crouching awkwardly to grab them, breath short and frustration high.

Then boots.

Big, heavy, worn boots stepped into your line of sight. He crouched, wordlessly collecting your things, and handed you the rescued apple like it was something fragile.

��Thanks,” you managed, flushed and winded.

He just nodded, quiet, and took the rest of your bags without asking. Walked them to your door. Set them down. Then left.

No name. No words. Just… help.

The landlord had said the guy in 4B kept to himself. “Military, I think,” he’d muttered, fixing a dripping pipe in your kitchen. “Big bastard. Weird one. Don’t bother him.”

But you weren’t bothered.

Not when the man in 4B started showing up just when you needed someone the most.

Your car refused to start one morning—battery dead, rain pouring. You were already late for your prenatal check-up, soaked through, panic clawing at your throat.

You didn’t call for him.

But there he was, crouched by your engine in the rain ten minutes later, sleeves rolled up, hands steady. You just stood beside him, umbrella shaking in your grip.

He got it running. Said nothing. Just gave you a nod and turned back toward the building.

Later that day, you found a note slipped under your door:

Battery’s going. Let me know if you need a ride next time — S.

S.

It was the first time you knew anything about him at all. Just a single initial.

But you felt safer somehow. Like maybe the world wasn’t as empty as it had felt lately.

He came around more after that.

Never intrusive. Always quiet. But steady.

You caught him fixing the hinge on your door one afternoon. Didn’t knock—just noticed it was squeaking and did something about it. You offered tea, awkward and warm, and he took it with a small nod, standing in your doorway like he didn’t quite know if he was allowed inside.

Sometimes, he’d help without saying a word. A stuck window. The dripping tap. The crib, which had arrived in pieces and looked like a nightmare.

He showed up with a toolbox slung over one shoulder and a roll of sandpaper in the other. “Can’t have your little one sleepin’ in splinters,” he muttered, smoothing the edges with care that made your throat ache.

You started to wait for him without realizing it. Listened for his boots in the hall. Left the door unlocked when you knew he’d be coming by to check on the leaky pipe again. Made two cups of tea instead of one.

The flat felt less cold when he was near.

“You really don’t have to do all this,” you said one day, watching him tighten a bracket on the changing table.

Simon glanced up, a ghost of a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Don’t mind.”

“But why?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just focused on the wrench in his hands, twisting it slowly. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing strong forearms, a faint scar running along one. The light caught the side of his face—a rare moment when his mask was off.

Finally, he said, “’Cause no one was there when my mum needed help.”

The words were quiet. Heavy.

You swallowed, the room suddenly too full of unspoken things. “You’re here now.”

He met your gaze for a long moment. Then nodded, just once.

He never pushed. Never asked questions. But he was always there.

Late nights when your ankles were aching and your back hurt, he’d knock with a bowl of soup or a spare pillow he’d swear was better for propping you up.

When you had a rough appointment and came back in tears, he said nothing—just stood by your kitchen counter, letting you cry while he quietly fixed your kettle.

Sometimes, he’d sit across from you while you folded baby clothes, his voice low and rough as he asked about the due date, or what names you liked.

“I was thinking… Liam,” you said one night. “It means ‘strong-willed warrior.’ I just… I like how it sounds.”

He rolled the name on his tongue like it was something sacred. “Liam,” he echoed. “It suits him.”

The night Liam was born, the city was drowning in rain.

You knocked on his door, breathless and barely able to stand. You didn’t even say anything—just clutched your belly and whimpered.

He caught you before you fell.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

You didn’t remember much of the drive—just his hand on yours, the low rumble of his voice calming you through every contraction, and the way he paced outside the hospital room like it was killing him not to be inside.

When it was over—when Liam was in your arms, tiny and perfect—you looked toward the door.

And there he was. Hesitant. Hovering.

You smiled through your tears. “Simon,” you said softly, “do you want to meet him?”

His shoulders stiffened, eyes going wide. You hadn’t ever called him that before.

But he came. Stepped inside like he was walking into something holy.

You placed Liam in his arms, watching the way this hardened, silent man melted in an instant. His hands cradled the baby like he was the most fragile thing in the world.

“He’s beautiful,” Simon said. “You did good.”

“You helped,” you whispered.

Simon looked at you—really looked—and for the first time, let the walls fall.

“You’re not alone,” he said. “You never will be again.”

☆taglist☆

@h0lydrag0ns

[dropouttvpollbrackets]

Most Hinged Dropout Cast Member (Finals)

PLEASE NOTE: This poll is for the most hinged person. For the ongoing main bracket judging people on unhingedness, click here

Click here for more info on this mini-bracket

[missredherring]

Unmuzzled

Joel Miller x Fat F!Reader

Word Count: 497

Rating: T

Contents: thoughts of biting. kissing. mouth inspection. spit play.

Summary: Even the infected understand the need to bite: to survive and spread.

A/N: Look, @galaxyedging said "Now I'm just thinking of Joel saving his biting for when he's knows it's safe.🥵" and my brain said, yup!

Not beta'd.

Even the infected understand the need to bite: to survive and spread.

Joel doesn't know where the urge came from or why he wants to do it.

Love bites, his partners had called them in the past, had been a novelty and limited to one or two at most. Then the outbreak happened and now putting teeth to skin is akin to putting a gun barrel to the temple.

He'd almost forgotten the way his mouth would open subconsciously as it neared a lover's body. Until he saw you and all of your curves and he damn near choked on the spit that flooded his mouth when he first talked to you.

Here, now, with you pinning him to the cushion of the ratty couch in his apartment, his jaw aches with the effort of restraint.

Your ass spills out of his hands where he's clutching you closer to him, your knees bracket his hips, and your hands rest on his shoulders as he kisses you with the goal of tiring his mouth out before you take off your clothes.

He half hopes you'd forget about the confession he'd told your back in the dark last night. Maybe he can get you so worked up that everything slips your mind, but he knows the hope is futile when you lean back and take his face between your hands. Gentle pressure at the hinge of his jaw is all it takes for him to open his mouth. His breath hits the webbed skin between your thumb and forefinger and he wonders if sinking his teeth into that would be enough. He watches as you press a fingertip to his sharp teeth and run a nail down the middle of his tongue.

"Where do you want to start?" you ask, smearing the saliva over his lips.

Start. The word makes him feel lightheaded so he presses his forehead into your shoulder, his nose burying in your chest, and breathes deeply. He can only smell you: sweat and a hint of the soap he'd gotten for you. Your weight on his legs, your warmth, it grounds him and he feels… safe. You make him feel safe with the way you stroke through his hair, and he trusts you to grab and yank him away if he gets out of control. If he does something you don't like, you can stop him.

Where does he want to start? Your fingers, your wrists, the fat of your inner arm, the stiff muscles of your shoulders you ask him to rub for you, your neck, your chin, your round cheeks, the swell of your tits, the fat rolled up on your sides, perfect to fill his mouth with. Your belly is a canvas for his teeth, and so is the wide expanse of your hips. The beautiful globes of your ass, the toughened skin of your inner thighs, the back of your calves, down to your toes.

Everywhere, anywhere.

"Wherever you'll let me."

[delirious-donna]

Morning Epiphany [Higuruma Hiromi]

an: cockwarming with Hiromi was suggested to me when I opened my requests/ideas for this wonderful man and I immediately leapt on it because YES!

pairing: Higuruma Hiromi x female reader

warnings: cockwarming, reader being the teeniest bit mean to poor Hiro, whining and whimpering from the lawyer…

Masterlist

“Hiro… it’s so early, why are you in here?”

The sun had barely begun to crest, the earliest rays warming the bedspread that was surprisingly empty. A hand reaching out to your husband’s side confirmed the first stirring of your consciousness, he wasn’t here, and if he wasn’t here then there were only two places he could be.

Despite the lure of sleep trying to coax you back into the cozy haze of dreams, you couldn’t possibly sleep when your other half was missing, and so early too. The blinking lights of the alarm clock signalled the hour and helped to push your feet to the rug by the bed, stretching and pouting.

The bathroom was empty, there was no remnant of steam from the scalding hot showers he took every morning and you scowled at your dishevelled reflection in the mirror. Your hair stuck up at odd angles, eyes puffy from how quickly you got out of bed and your sleepshirt—an old well-worn sweatshirt of Hiromi’s—was creased beyond belief.

Your steps took you towards the office and the scent of freshly brewed coffee that wafted enticingly into your nose. The door creaked on antique hinges, your missing man turning with his brow furrowed from having his concentration broken. The expression shifted into a smile almost immediately, a sheepish smile at that.

“Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to,” he apologised sincerely, settling back in his chair to stretch his arms up and over his head. The wide sleeves of his black t-shirt, now faded to grey at best, pushed back and your eyes dipped to the hint of black happy trail that peeked from beneath the hem with a sigh of appreciation.

Hiromi couldn’t help but chuckle. Hastily he fixed his face with a look of admonishment, one sleek eyebrow rising near to his hairline. “Eyes up here, Mrs Higuruma.”

“Sorry—wait. Why am I apologising? It’s the arse crack of dawn, what are you doing up let alone working?”

His eyes drooped, nervously fidgeting with the pen on his desk.

Before he could respond, you grabbed the back of his chair and scooted it out further from the desk to his confusion. The lines wrinkling his forehead smoothed out when your knee bracketed his hip, followed by the other until you sat straddling his lap. Your fingers ran through the limp strands of the hair hanging near into his eyes, humming at the glorious warmth of his body melding into yours.

“Epiphany moment?” Hiromi offered uncertainly. He was too preoccupied by the soft squish of your hips and backside, hands full of the meat of you, and desperately trying to will his cock not to harden any further. To his disappointment and your triumph, he was failing miserably.

You planted teasing kisses to his jawline, barely-there touches of your lips until you were decorating his throat and prominent Adam’s apple with wet little marks. “Don’t let me stop you, Hiro… you can pretend I’m not here. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

He dropped his chin, staring at you with suspicious disbelief. Swallowing thickly when you offered your best most innocent looking smile, laying your cheek on his shoulders and drawing one of his hands away from where he was pawing at your rump. “Work, if that’s what you want to do.”

Hiromi groaned and looked skyward as if some answer would arrive if he begged for it hard enough. He knew this game well enough, and not once had he won. He didn’t fancy his odds on this particular day either.

It started out fairly uneventful. Hiromi managed to refocus his attention towards the computer screen and the ruling he had been in the middle of reading when you appeared, but soon enough the words no longer made sense. Your fingertips grazed his chest, delicate scrapes of your nails across the cotton hiding his nipples and it was maddeningly distracting.

Instead of calling it out, knowing it would only result in you doubling down your efforts, he exhaled through his nose and shifted in his seat to give some respite to the erection chafing the waistband of his pyjama trousers. Immediately, he knew it was the wrong move. Your pelvis sunk closer to him, rubbing more friction into his aching length and he swore he could smell your arousal hanging heavy in the air.

He did his best to ignore your naughty fingers moving between you, to pretend you weren’t pulling him free and playing in the mess of precum leaking from his tip. His fingers tightened around the mouse in his hand, the sound of plastic groaning from the onslaught of pressure enough to make him blink and loosen his hold.

“You will be the death of me, love.”

The loose fist around his shaft paused. “Keep working or I’ll go back to bed… alone.” You were slick with arousal, the lack of panties leaving a dark stain on the crotch of Hiromi’s pyjamas that didn’t go unnoticed by either of you. The temptation to lift to your knees and sink down onto his cock was building, but you couldn’t reward him so readily for his leaving you in bed this morning. Not until he was a little more desperate, and by the hue of the rash at his neck and dappling of his cheeks, there was still a little ways to go.

Hiromi was failing fast, and he knew you were waiting to pounce and worsen his predicament. Worsen was hardly the right term given how eager he was to be swallowed by your plush velvet-lined walls, but since you were insistent that he continue to work, he wasn’t going to be rewarded until he did. The pen scratched across the surface of his notepad, the ink drying in shaky lines whilst you cupped his balls and rolled them between your fingers and thumb. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what he was writing made sense but if it gave the illusion of cooperation, he’d write utter gibberish all day long.

You held out as long as you could manage, the burning desire palpable on the dewy apples of your cheek and the heat of your breasts hidden beneath your husband’s sweatshirt. At long last you teased his pulsing cock between your folds, tapping the sticky cockhead against your pert little clit and finally lining him up at your entrance. The muscles contracted around him, that first inch a delicious stretch that pushed you to your limits not to slam right down to his fat balls and cry out from the bliss.

The descent was drawn out, testing your patience and resolve to the limits, as well as forcing stuttering breaths out of Hiromi’s heaving chest. You didn’t chastise the return of his hands, the adoration sweeping through his palms as they raised the hem of your sweatshirt so he could see himself disappearing into your pussy. He fisted the fabric, grasping at your hips with eyes heavy with lust and you simply had to taste him, even only for a moment.

Your lips crashed atop his, tongue licking over the seam of his bottom lip and pressing into his mouth to swallow the whine that crawled from his throat. It echoed inside your head, the urge to roll your hips over and over until he filled your belly with his seed burned like a white-hot flame. Your skin itched, fingers curled into claws that dove into Hiromi’s thick head of hair and you nearly didn’t break your kiss, nearly were consumed by the passion you felt in your heart.

“Hmmmpff.” Hiromi wailed when you finally came to some semblance of your senses, your pelvis flush against his but no longer moving. He stared at you in longing, watching whilst you swiped a finger over your kiss-swollen lips and sucked the remnants of his spit from the pad. The smile you offered was purely saccharine, and his throat itched with the need to bounce you on his cock until you gushed all over him and the chair.

“Please?” He asked on a whisper, aquiline nose nudging into your cheek.

“You have your epiphany moment to deal with mister lawyer, c’mon… you can last a little longer. Let me warm you and once I’m satisfied, I’ll ride you until your legs want to give out,” you purred, mouth at the shell of his ear and leaving a kiss at the bone just behind.

Silently, he begged and pleaded for mercy on his tainted soul, as if some divine intervention was likely to intercept, he knew that wouldn’t be the case. You were the only divine deity in his world and your determination to give him a taste of his own medicine for abandoning the sacred ritual of morning cuddles was written across your features.

A sweat broke out across his brow as he studied the lines of text on the screen without recognising a single word. A drip of arousal dribbled from the spot you united, dribbling over the seam of his balls to stain the leather seat beneath. You clenched, and he crushed the pen in his hand, palm filled with tiny plastic shards that speared his skin.

“Darling… light of my life—I will do anything, anything, if you’ll just ride me,” he whimpered, discarding the busted pen and grabbing up your hands to kiss earnestly across your fingertips then knuckles. Hiromi was barely restraining the buck of his hips, the warmth almost too much wrapped around his dick but without the friction and rhythm of movement… it wasn’t enough.

Your resolve was being tested once more. The subtle wobble of his lower lip and the sincere longing in his whisky-smoked eyes cracked the shell of your conviction. Easing forward in one languid roll of your hips earned you the most delightful and pitiful whimper you had heard in a long time. His head fell back against the headrest of his chair, eyes screwed shut whilst you felt him twitch within your walls. He might just cum like this if you didn’t do something, and actually, you wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

Never more had you enjoyed cockwarming Hiromi than at this moment, and you vowed to draw it out as long as he could endure.

“Fuck, Hiro… you feel so good. So warm and snug,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into him more. “Five more minutes…”